No Silk Necessary
by iboneki
Summary: Nick's mind wanders. [Post Bloodlines. Oneshot. Response to Kristen999's challenge.]


**Title: **No Silk Necessary

**Disclaimer:** Not mine. Dialogue is from 1x21 "Evaluation Day"

**Summary:** Nick's mind wanders. Post-Bloodlines. Response to Kristen999's challenge.

* * *

"At least there wasn't any silk crap this time." 

Nick muttered to himself as he tossed the thrice-folded piece of paper onto the coffee table.

He sunk wearily into the leather cushions of his couch before eyeing the discarded letter again.

His _gold star-turned-fools gold_.

His _congratulations, but just kidding._

His _not-promotion._

Three years ago, he would've lost sleep over it.

Three years ago, he might've even marched into a budget meeting and _demanded_ that money would be better spent on new positions rather than the latest fancy lab toys for Greg.

But, Nick noted, propping his feet up on said table, it was not three years ago.

And because of that, he hadn't given his not-promotion a second thought until Sara brought it up again while they were walking down the Strip earlier that night.

The two CSIs applied for the same promotion a few months ago, and Nick had received word last week that Grissom recommended him - exactly what he would have given his left arm for... three years ago.

Now?

Oh, sure, he wanted the position. Badly. He loved being challenged, and a promotion meant more experience, more responsibilities, more opportunities... It also meant the lab had confidence in his abilities - and everyone would know that.

But it was just... different now. _He_ was different.

Leaning back on the couch, his eyes drifted shut as his mind flashed to a specific Evaluation Day with Grissom - yes, three years ago. One that started him on the road to this very point. The memory was vivid to the point of palpability. God, he'd wanted to work solo so badly.

_Repeat after me. Silk, silk, silk._

_"Silk, silk, silk"?_

_What do cows drink?_

_Milk._

_Cows drink water. They give milk. A simple riddle. Common sense disguised in a puzzle of words, but an excellent barometer for evaluating someone's readiness._

Nick remembered being so hurt and angry at Grissom's words. What the fuck kind of evaluation was that? _Common sense_? Even now, Nick maintained that he'd been ready to work solo at the time. But his surprise at Grissom's methods threw off any semblance of logical response. He was embarrassed that he fell for such a silly riddle, but even more because he realized Grissom knew he would. And so, unfortunately, he'd shot back with the first thing that crossed his mind.

_Look, I'm not one of your suspects you can trick, okay? If I'm not ready, be a man -- tell me I'm not ready._

_You're not ready._

_You know why I took this job? Honestly? I wanted to pack heat, walk under the yellow tape, be the man ... but mostly, because I want you to think I'm a good CSI._

_And that's the reason I have to hold you back. Anybody who's great at anything, Nick, does it for his own approval, not someone else's._

Nick cringed at the memory; he wanted to kick himself in the ass for saying it. What the hell was he, some green cadet? Wanting to be a CSI so he'd think I was good at it! It's doubtful he could have said anything worse. How had it gotten to that point?

Caught up in the emotions of the moment, he'd forgotten what his father told him at his high school graduation: "If I had one wish in this God-forsaken world, son, let your mistakes be your own."

It was a valuable piece of advice from his father, Nick thought, as he leaned over and snagged a framed picture off the end table. Nine close-knit people grinned back at him - it was a Stokes family shot from some nameless holiday gathering. As the youngest of all his siblings it seemed his life's mission was to try and prove he had the affection and attention of his parents.

So when it came time to enter college, his father had reminded him of that past. Don't pick vanilla ice cream because I don't like chocolate. Don't enter that junior golf tournament because I like watching the pros. Don't go to law school because I'm a judge. Be your own man. Make your own choices for you.

He used that advice when he finally admitted to himself he didn't like being a cop in Dallas... not when he could really connect with people in other ways.

It's why he became a CSI.

Still looking at the framed photo of his siblings, Nick was also reminded of how his lab family mirrored his real one. Growing up in the Stokes brood, little Nicky was renowned for two things: being young and being adorable. The proof was all right there - he was the baby of the house, and he got his cheeks pinched by doting adults more often than a toddler in a nursing home.

Working with the Graveyard shift, big Nicky was renowned for two things: being young and being adorable. Of course, it meant something different now. Instead of getting his cherubic cheeks pinched, he got underestimated and patronized.

Setting the frame back down, his eyes were once again drawn to the folded letter.

He knew that being recognized with a promotion would help break such a stigma... but he also knew that's not what was important to him anymore. He earned a promotion because he's a damn good CSI. And even without a recommendation, he'd still be one.

He didn't fall for dumbass silk riddles anymore.

Still, though, Nick couldn't lie to himself. His level of admiration for his boss was on the same level as that for his father. Not that he'd ever admit it to anyone. Disappointing Grissom was only second to... well, _death_ on his list of things he dreaded experiencing. And so of course he desperately wanted Grissom's approval. But he didn't need it.

Certainly not now, and probably not back then, either.

Every day he helped to speak for crime victims by pouring his time, heart and talent into a job he absolutely loves. That's what he signed up to do, and he wouldn't trade it for anything.

And, the Texan knew, despite the completely demure professor-esque persona Grissom emitted, he also shared that passion. Nick witnessed that his first day on the job - which is how he got into this mess in the first place. How could he not admire someone who was just as committed as he strived to be? It's only natural to try and make your mentor proud. He might not have been able to prove it to Grissom back then, but apparently he had now.

Thankfully, he mused, this time the process was riddle-free.

And so he decided to drink to his not-promotion - a solitary, celebratory toast that he'd enjoy for a moment and then file away with that junior golf tournament scorecard. Grissom's approval wasn't his driving force, but Nick knew he'd never stop trying for it anyway.

He dragged himself off the couch and into the kitchen. Opening the fridge, Nick perused the scant choices: a couple Coronas, some frou-frou wine coolers his sister had left the last time she visited... hmmm. He probably had tequila _somewhere_ in this house.

Or.

Before he had a chance to follow up on any hard liquor consideration, his eyes landed on an unlikely choice. Yet, the longer he looked, the more perfect it became. Pulling out the jug, the CSI nearly laughed as he poured himself a large glass of milk.

Raising his drink in the air, he could almost hear Grissom's voice again.

_ Silk, silk, silk._

Nick easily drained it in a few successive gulps but paused as a fleeting thought passed through his head. With a hint of a smirk, he set down the empty glass.

_Baby_ cows drink milk.

fin

* * *

Challenge prompt from thatTaylorgirl: what happened after Sara and Nick talked about the promotion in "Bloodlines?" 

Thank you for your unintentional inspiration, cohort.


End file.
